'MacGyvers' Born In the Superstorm

A tandem bike was used to generate power for people charging cellphones in the East Village on Thursday.
Stan Honda/Agence France-Presse/Getty Images

By

Sophia Hollander And

Jackie Bischof

Updated Nov. 9, 2012 12:04 a.m. ET

When Andrew and Deborah Ku first heard about Hurricane Sandy, they worried that their ground-level bodega—located one block from the beach in Far Rockaway, Queens—would be swamped. They searched for sandbags and found none.

They made an impromptu barrier of faux-sandbags improvised from supplies at hand: cat litter and garbage bags.

The bodega weathered the storm without a drop of floodwater, enabling a reopening as one of the few surviving stores on the hard-hit peninsula.

In the aftermath of the superstorm, New Yorkers are swapping stories about how they summoned their inner MacGyver: tinkering, hacking and jury-rigging everyday objects to devise makeshift solutions, just like the 1980s TV character. Jackie Bischof has details on The News Hub. Photo: AFP/Getty Images.

In the aftermath of the superstorm, New Yorkers are swapping stories about how they summoned their inner MacGyver: tinkering, hacking and jury-rigging everyday objects to devise makeshift solutions, just like the 1980s TV character.

As Sandy lashed the coastal neighborhood of Broad Channel in Queens, Mark Ott peered outside to see a 6-foot surge bearing a yacht up the street—and toward his home.

"I was pretty surprised," said Mr. Ott, a city bus mechanic.

The driverless boat was blown forward by winds until it snagged on power lines just feet from his front door.

Fearing that the boat would break free and ram his home—where three children and his mother-in-law were also staying—he grabbed tools from his flooding basement, waded through the water and pulled himself over the side.

Before and After Sandy: Aerial Views

Satellite images taken before and after the arrival of the Sandy superstorm along the East Coast show damage to houses, businesses, roads, and beaches.

Mini Thai Cafe in New York's East Village used a running minivan to power their restaurant while most of the other neighborhood businesses stayed closed due to lack of electricity. WSJ's Reed Albergotti reports via #WorldStream

Mr. Ott, 38, was ready to hot-wire the vessel, he said, until he spied keys near the helm.

"I gave it a little gas, turned the key and the motor started right up," he said. "I just ran the boat as far as I could."

Once he felt the propeller run aground, he jumped out and swam about 50 feet back home.

When Jonathan Simon tried to stock up on supplies the day before the storm, he discovered it was too late: Home Depot's shelves were all but empty.

Then he saw the axes. "I figured, 'Why not?'" said Mr. Simon, a 24-year-old software developer from White Plains, N.Y.

He bought an ax and a crowbar. "Everybody laughed at me for being ridiculous," he recalled of his amused friends.

After the storm subsided, he drove to his office in Armonk to check for damage. The trip home ground to a halt when a downed tree blocked the road, leaving another motorist marooned.

Mr. Simon climbed out of the car toting his new ax, with a large knife hanging from his belt

"Needless to say, he was taken aback," said Mr. Simon of the helpless motorist. He hacked the fallen tree, clearing the road.

"Ironically," he said, "a tree crew arrived as I was driving away."

Laurie Mittelmann and Bill Di Paola, curators trying to open the Museum of Reclaimed Urban Space in the East Village, watched in horror as water filled a basement exhibition space.

With no power, they struggled to think of a way to pump out the water. That's when Mr. Di Paola remembered a piece in their collection: a bike generator once used for power at Occupy Wall Street protests.

The curators carried the bike outside and started pedaling. Although the contraption was too feeble for the pump, it attracted a crowd of power-starved passersby looking for a way to charge their cellphones.

By midday, the museum directors had purchased power strips that enabled two dozen phones to charge at the same time. Neighbors dropped off food from lifeless refrigerators, others arrived with grills, and the impromptu power station became a block party.

ENLARGE

Gina Kohm holds down a tarp covering donated supplies at an aid station in New Dorp, Staten Island, on Wednesday.
Seth Wenig/Associated Press

"If you were charging your cellphone, you had to at least ride the bike for a bit," said Mr. Di Paola. "Everyone had to make their own energy."

A few blocks away, Fuk Chai Roeng and her husband, Oody Roeng, also had power woes.

The storm had left the Mini Thai Café, where she is a manager and he is the chef, in the dark. With up to $600 worth of spoilable food starting to warm, the couple tried not to panic.

During New York City's 2003 blackout, Mr. Roeng had attached a small inverter—a kind of adapter cord—to a car battery to power his at-home fish tank.

The chef jumped back into his car, drove to their home in Woodside, Queens, and gathered flashlights, lamps and two inverters. When he returned, they set up lights connected to their car battery, and Mr. Roeng cooked food on the still-working gas stove.

The glowing lamps and cooking food lured crowds from the blacked-out neighborhood, and the restaurant was sold out within hours.

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